This Simple Phrase
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: (One-shot, SLASH C/J) It's Christmas, and Christopher believes it'll be spent alone-- until an unexpected phone call gives him another chance at life, love, and discovering the magic of Christmas.


This Simple Phrase 

By Kay 

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing but a few of Jalil's wristwatches, eight of his shoelaces, and three pillowcases. Attempting to steal an entire shoe. Have not yet succeeded. 

Author's Notes: It's Christmas time~! YAY! ^__^ And I have thrown away my comedy and angst filled fanfiction for an actual piece of unsubtantial *fluff*!!! C/J slash fluff, no less! MWAHAHAHAA! SLASH everyone, that means Male/Male stuff! Boy boy love! Learn it! 

This is *why* I haven't updated on any of my other fics. x_x Took forever to write, I tell ya. 

... this so takes place in a totally AU universe-- alternative reality, if you will. ^^;; I have no idea where it came from, actually. I just wanted to have a cute X-mas Jalil and Chris fic, and this popped out of nowhere. So just imagine, if you will, they're in the real world and about just out of college... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_And so, I'm offering this simple phrase_  
_To kids, from one to ninety-two_  
_Although it's been said_  
_Many times, many ways_  
_Merry Christmas... to you_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_"--celebrate Christmas throughout the day by shopping at the best place for low prices! We at Walmart are here to make your holiday easier by--"_

"By stealin' your mon'y," Christopher Hitchcock muttered darkly, glaring blurrily at the television screen seated across from the sofa he was sprawled out on. The room was darkened with shadows that were only startled away by the glow of the screen. The blonde's face was half tinted with the shade of night itself. 

Only half listening to the drone of commercials, he fumbled down beside him drunkenly. There was another beer around here somewhere, he knew it. Had brought the entire bottle with an extra one, ready to be good and plastered, but for some reason the dark brown bottle was already empty... lying on the floor... 

"Goddamn it," the blonde said. He stared at the empty beer can clutched in his pale fingers. "S'... ain't good." 

Obviously, he was drunk. 

After considering that with disgust, Christopher sighed and flopped back down over the couch-- a faded plaid thing he'd gotten for extra cheap from a fellow houseman. Half the cushions were on the floor, scattered among broken chips and empty bottles. His apartment was a mess, some part of him reflected. 

He closed his eyes. 

_"--nd newest pop star Desi rises to number one on the charts tonight, surprising her fans with the newest relea--"_

He cursed to himself, and opened the dimmed blue to search his cushions for the remote. It was to loud in the mostly quiet, empty apartment. The television sounded almost bland and wrong to his ears for once. Usually he loved the programs, the amusing commercials... 

Tonight, he found the remote and pressed the "OFF" button. 

_"--ought to you by--"_

Silence. 

He listlessly dropped the remote, and holding his spinning head, rested back against the couch. Blessed quiet closed in around him. 

_How did it get this bad?_ He wasn't really sure anymore. It was Christmas Eve, he should be outside in the falling snowfall. Should be celebrating with the masses of fake and genuinely happy people. Out at a party, chuckling at the cute kid carolers, making faces at the bad scent of apple cider. 

Alcohol had a scent sort of like apples, if you were drunk enough. Christopher let out a loud and abrupt laugh at the thought. 

_This is... pathetic._

He fell silent again, watching pieces of the cieling melt together. It wasn't hard-- the entire white space was filled with cracks and faded leak stains. In fact, most of the apartment was the same way-- he'd gotten it cheap, like the sofa he laid on, because it was the smallest yet still bearable place he could find. No cockroaches yet, but plenty of plumbing problems. Weak electricity. Not much in the fridge but beer and ham sandwhiches-- college was costing him a lot of money, even with financial aid. 

It was cold, he noted absently. The chill of outside was seeping in. 

_So this is what my life is, not even out of college yet... what a waste. Why did I ever agree to do this again?_

Oh yes. He had a good chance at becoming something, that was right. That and his parents would have had his head if he didn't give it a try. And, oh yeah, no one ever got jobs anymore without a degree. Damn it. 

_... this sucks._

Letting out a loud groan, Christopher rubbed his eyes and tried to ignore the sudden sound of people laughing outside. _It's Christmas and I'm alone. Why am I not surprised? Christ, you think I'd be used to it by now... right?_

Of course, it was never easy. Every year it got harder to bear-- there was a time when he would have loved to be away from the family and the people he loved. A time when sitting here being drunk out of his mind sounded terrific. But that was a longer time ago, when youth had clouded his mind even worse than the alcohol. He knew better now. Nothing was as good as having people around you. 

Of course, that didn't mean he'd learned his lesson. 

_I hate being stubborn. Get off your ass, Christopher, and get out that door._

He tried to will himself, but-- no, fifteen minutes he was still sprawled on the sofa. The blonde groaned deeply again to himself. 

_Damn it. Not happening._

This royally sucked. 

Then the phone rang. 

Christopher blinked and glanced at the coffee table beside him in surprise. A plain white phone was quiet for a second before, to his startlement, ringing yet again. It sounded incredibly loud in the room, with the television and his mouth not running. And it was possibly the first time he'd heard this particular phone ring. 

_Wrong number?_ his mind asked incredulously, even as his hand automatically reached for it. It stopped in mid-ring when he picked it up. Hesitantly, he brought it to his ear. 

"... 'lo?" 

There was a long silence-- and the feeling hanging in the stale air that it was definatly awkward. Finally, a voice responded in an almost inaudable, concerned tone. One he had heard somewhere before, sometime in the past. It nagged at his brain, trying to remind him, who this belonged to-- 

"Hello? Christopher Hitchcock?" 

"Um... yeah? This is him..." he muttered, carefully pronouncing his words on the thickness of his tongue. 

"I thought so..." the voice paused carefully, in a manner that was equally familiar to Christopher's stunned brain. "You sound like you have a cold." 

"Somethin' like that. Who is this?" 

A second of surprise seemed to emit from the other hand, a flustered, almost desperate, "Well, I knew... I mean... it's... it's Jalil Sherman? From high school, remember?" 

And then he did. 

"Oh." His voice hadn't changed at all, Christopher reflected in shocked marvel, even as his own voice stammered some sort of a response out. "It's, uh... wow, wow, Jalil? It's been years now." 

"Yeah, I know." 

There was a sort of uncomfortable pain in that statement-- Christopher winced at it, suddenly recalling the last time they'd seen each other. And exactly what he'd done to make them loose contact with each other for so very long. 

"Jalil... listen--" 

"Don't get all sappy and idiotic on me now," Jalil interrupted. It was said in faint amusement, though, so the blonde relaxed. 

_Jalil... Jalil Sherman... oh yes, I know him. And I can tell the guy hasn't changed one bit._

"Um, yeah. How have you been...?" 

"Good. I'm going to the college here in town, actually, going on about a year now..." 

"Here?" Christopher said in shock with a sharp laugh. His mind felt a bit clearer with this meager human contact. "You're kiddin' me?! How come I haven't seen you at all? I definatly would've seen you, right?" 

Jalil laughed a little, a soft but constricted sound that contained a hint of a deeper tone struggling to get out. "I've been enrolled in some of the more challenging, upper-classes in the university. I'm taking several psychology related classes as well, and if I remember, you always hated that subject." 

"God, yes. Ew, psychology. But you always did like analysing what people were thinking," Christopher said with a chuckle, reclining back onto the sofa with a small grin on his face. It had been a long time since he'd heard this voice, or any voice worth hearing, actually. 

"What can I say? I'm good at it." There was a short pause, and some muffled talking in the background where Jalil had stopped to say something to someone. Then, his voice came in clear again. "Sorry about that. I'm at my family's little get together thing, and trying to escape the mass of relatives. If Uncle Phillip tries to tell me one more story of his experiences with newly painted benches, I'm going to scream." 

"Sounds interesting. Wet paint on benches, you say?" 

"Oh shut up." 

Christopher laughed loudly, feeling the tensions leak from his body in a waterfall of relief. Nothing had changed with them. "I'd have liked to see a black man with blue pants on." 

"Still a tad bit racist, aren't we, cracker?" Jalil snorted in amusement and irony. "And it was red paint, thank you very much. Bright red." 

"That'd make a great joke, if I had the energy to work it out." 

"Everything's a joke with you, Christopher. It always was." And here, walking into dangerous territory. Christopher hesitated at the slight underlying bitterness in his old friend's words, trying to gauge at where he shouldn't step. 

He remembered this boy well. Slender and mocha-skinned, with dark hazil eyes and a perpetual small frown on his features-- he'd been all angles and scorn and sometimes, on occassion, beautifully understanding smiles. An enigma to the classmates, a pride to the teachers, and something infinately tempting to himself. 

And so very unexpected. 

_Funny... it's been years, but I thought he'd still hate me for what I did. He seemed like the type to hold a grudge. Even if I didn't mean to._

_It's not my fault I'm a coward. Honestly._

"Anyway," Jalil said loudly over the phone, any trace of upset gone now, "I'm really getting bored over here. So I thought a little, decided to look up a friend's number, and what do you know? There's a Christopher Hitchcock not six blocks away from me at this very moment. Thought I'd drop a line. See how you're doing." 

"I'm... I'm okay," the blonde lied, glancing warily across his beaten down apartment and empty tequila bottles. "College, yeah. Trying to concentrate on business courses and economics, actually. Can y'believe it?" 

"You? Economics? You're a pod person, aren't you?" 

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no." Christopher grinned widely, shifting the phone to his other ear as the tingling started in from pressing it to tightly. "I'm still the same ol' lovable Christopher Hitchcock, with the wits and charm of Cassanova. Only now I'm a Cassanova with a coming degree in economical crap." 

"Very interesting," Jalil teased, sounding completely relaxed now. "I see you as the next CEO of a major cooperation soon. If you don't know what to do with your money, call me up, and I'll help you spend it. Okay?" 

"Hmm, I don't think I'll need any help." 

"Christopher, you've needed help for a long time now," the dark-eyed teenager said dryly on the phoneline. Some people in the background cheered loudly, something inaudible to the blonde's ears. The crowd of people sounded vastly different from his own lonely apartment. The thought made him frown again, depressed. 

"Yeah, I guess..." 

After a long, almost gawky moment, Jalil ventured, "So, ah, how's the family? You going to see them for Christmas? I haven't spoken to Mark in ages." 

"Eh... he's okay. I haven't talked to them for a week or two-- decided to spend Christmas at parties and having a blast..." Christopher mumbled weakly. His old friend was quiet a moment, before he spoke softly on the other end of the reciever, ever careful of reactions. 

"Then why are you home...?" 

Christopher scowled outright at the question when it hit too close to home. Gritting his teeth, he said sarcastically, "Well, obviously I'm having a blast." 

"Uh-huh. A blast," Jalil agreed skeptically. "Sounds interesting." 

"Oh shut up." 

It was a sharp sound, and Christopher knew it as well as Jalil. "Well, you were the one who had to get snippy, you know," the boy said in irritation. 

Christopher sighed, loosing his scowl and opting instead to run his hands through his mussed blonde hair. It was growing past his ears already, he noted absently. "Okay. Okay, look. Life is sucking, I'm well on my way to being a miserable drunk, and I'm spending Christmas alone, okay? Christ, Jalil, you'll make a great psychologist." 

_Well, that was stupid to say._

The blonde groaned mentally and nearly buried his face in his hands. 

However, when there was no immeadiate reply, he asked hesitantly, "Jalil...? You there still?" 

"Do you want to see me?" 

"... what?" 

_See you? I bet you still have those deep mahogany eyes. I bet you're still skinny as a twig, too. I've seen so much of you... but it wasn't enough even back then, was it? Or have you forgotten that?_

"You sound lonely," Jalil said simply, with a flair of understatement that he always had a knack for. "I want to get away from these crazy relatives. It's an easy question. Do you want to meet me somewhere?" 

Christopher's mouth felt dry. He opened it to answer, to say no, that's okay, thanks anyway-- but nothing came out. It was like a lump of damp cotton was lodged deep within his esophagus. Instead, he felt his tongue and teeth moving mechanically, and heard his voice say something unexpected-- 

"I'd love to. Where can we go?" 

"Do you know the corner down by 6th North Lane and Determent?" 

"Yeah," he said, the image coming into his mind even as the words were said. A small park was there, a small scatterings of small stores and restaurants. Lots of statues. "I know it, it's easy to get there." 

"I'll meet you there in... half an hour?" 

Again, Christopher's mouth was working without his brain. "Can you do fifteen minutes?" 

A slight hesitation, and a soft but pleased, "Of course." 

"Alright. See ya there, then." 

"Of course. Goodbye." 

When Christopher hung up the phone, his hands were shaking. But he didn't even look at the ruins of his rundown home as he struggled off the sofa and ran to straighten his hair and pull on a clean shirt. 

_He hates messy stuff. Used to keep straightening up my collar, always brushing things off my shirt or coat. If I show up like this, he'll faint._

But even as he frantically tugged a black sweater over his head, upsetting his golden tresses, he wondered why he cared. Why he was even bothering to remember that black always looked best on his pale skin and bright blue eyes, or why he was bothering to fix himself up and brush his teeth. 

Twelve minutes left now. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The corner of 6th North and Determent. 

Christopher's breath was coming out in large puffs of white cloud, and his golden hair was already speckled with large snowflakes and glittery ice dots. Throughout the month, the snow hadn't stopped falling-- the evidence being the fact that every inch of street and bare-branched tree was covered in white. Night was falling, though the streetlamps glowed warmly on every corner, and lit up the wonderland. 

He glanced up at the street sign, and stopped. Yes, he was there. The entrance to the park was just around the other side, a great stone archway framed by gray stoned angels freckled with snow. 

There were people everywhere. He leaned back against the arch pole cautiously, to avoid getting in anyone's way, and waited. 

_Two minutes and eight seconds._

It didn't take long. 

"Christopher, _please_ tell me that's not the same coat you wore in junior high." 

He turned. And looked, and couldn't stop looking, and his breath was caught inside his chest-- because he hadn't changed a bit. Memories flew by in his head, and for a second, he forgot completely that he was in public and that life sucked. 

_I forgot... I can't believe I forgot... how much I missed you._

Jalil's dark mahogany eyes regarded him fondly, tiny slips of black hair falling over them and framing his face. His hair had grown out, not enough to be called long-- but to where he could pull it back into the small, loose ponytail he had now. The same lanky, thin form was clad in a thick white sweater and black jeans, a warm black coat and blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He was frowning at Christopher. 

"It _is_ the same coat, isn't it? Christ, you should have thrown that out years ago, it's got holes in it." He walked up, standing next to him and studying his favourite jacket with disapproving eyes. "Hn, it looks even worse than it did. No surprises there." 

Christopher just looked at him, his mouth dry and lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't. 

"Well?" Jalil looked up at him. Looked up-- he'd gotten taller, Jalil was about a head smaller now. "Where do you feel like going?" 

The blonde swallowed once. And then again, and managed to choke out, "Uhm... I don't c-care." 

"Do you still like coffee...?" the dark-eyed man asked him curiously, tilting his head to the side. It was a painfully familiar gesture. Christopher had seen it hundreds of times, but tonight it was like the first time all over again. 

"Yeah. Yeah," he struggled to say. "I do. Like coffee, I mean." 

Jalil tossed him a weird look, but it softened as he replied, "Then let's go get something warm to drink first. I'm freezing my ass off here." 

"Uh-huh," he replied weakly. 

They didn't have far to go-- the closet place was a small cafe within the street shops, painted with blue and cream walls. They walked into the near-empty place, picking a boothe. Christopher still hadn't gathered all his wits, though he was much closer than before. They slid into their seats, sitting across from each other. 

"This is a nice place," he managed to say, after looking around quickly. A single waitress with a dark bun was watching them as they sat down. No one else was around. "Do you... uh, come here a lot?" 

"Sometimes..." Jalil mused, picking up the menu with his usual grace and care. "When my apartment gets to quiet, you know? I live alone now. Well, except for Agnes." 

"Agnes?" Christopher's heart sank for an unknown reason. 

_He has a girlfriend...? No way. Oh please, no way._

"My cat." 

_That's more like it._ Christopher shoved the irritatingly relieved sigh away in the back of his mind, and grinned at Jalil. "I always figured you for a feline person. You hate dogs, they're to messy and need attention." 

"Like you," Jalil replied dryly, his dark eyes flashing over the menu top. "At least Agnes knows how to clean up after herself." 

"What kind of a name is Agnes?" Christopher complained while peering over the selections-- mostly small soups and coffee drinks. Sandwhiches. "If it were me, I would have named her something cool sounding. Maybe Etain." 

"That girl in your old 10th grade Chemistry class? Oh please." 

"Okay, how about The Meowster?" 

Jalil favoured him with a look and raised eyebrow. 

"What?" Christopher demanded defensively. "It's a perfectly good name! Power and a tiny hint of suave, with just a little bit of cool radness on the side. She would have been worshipped by the neighborhood animals, then. Who respects a cat named Agnes?" 

"She doesn't see any other animals," Jalil countered with a laugh. "One cat's enough for me, thanks. I don't want an entire litter on my hands." 

"Whatever. All I'm saying, is that Meowster would have been much cooler than boring ol' Agnes." 

"Mm-hmm." 

"Seriously, who doesn't like a Meowster? People kick Agnes types, Jalil. Your cat is a mockery to cat-kind by now." 

Jalil laughed at that one-- and Christopher's mind almost shut down at the sound. He'd forgotten how nice it was to see the usually pensive person across from him actually open up, and express joy for real. How strange it was to see the change. 

The dark-eyed young adult shook his head, lips curling into a smile. "I'm sure the other cats aren't to upset with it, Christopher. I'll make sure to apologize to Agnes when I get home, though, just in case. Happy now?" 

"Very," the blonde managed to say, sitting back in his seat. It had been the truth. 

The woman with the long dark hair braided up into a bun came over, waitress pad and pencil in hand. She smiled kindly at them. "Are you ready to order?" 

Christopher opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Jalil interrupted, "He'd like the Colombian Roast, made strong and hot, with one sugar and two creams." 

Startled blue eyes met embarrassed dark brown, and Christopher's mouth gaped for a moment. 

_He remembers. God, Jalil. Why would you remember something like that?_

And then, without missing a beat, his mouth spoke again without his mind's consent-- "And he'd like a chocolate coffee lattee, heavy on the cream but no sugar." 

They stared at each other from across the small white table, holding each other's gazes steadily. The waitress looked between them uncertainly before nodding and leaving them alone. 

Christopher was suddenly aware that his long legs were cramped beneath the boothe with Jalil's, and the warmth was starting to seep through his jeans. Distantly, he wondered if there was any way to move without the other boy noticing. 

"You remembered my favourite," Jalil said quietly, tilting his head to the side. 

"Yeah, you too." _Of course I did,_ Christopher's mind screamed. _You loved to drink it all the time. I used to watch you and laugh, because it seemed so weird that someone as uptight as you hated strong coffee. You were a gulper. You liked it warm and sweet, with about a gallon of cream in every cup. How could I forget?_

"I guess," Jalil murmered, looking out the window beside them. Most of the entire north wall was made up of glass, so they could see outside. Christopher followed his line of sight silently, training in on the numerous people walking in the streets of snow. 

They were silent until their drinks arrived. 

Once the waitress had left, Christopher inhaled the strong scent of roasted coffee with pleasure. It had always been his favourite to drink. To be honest, he was surprised he never got sick of the blend. 

"It's good coffee," Jalil muttered, a relieved and happy expression crossing his usually emotionless features. He sipped his own again, carefully holding it properly at the side and below the lip. "Hits the spot, at least." 

"Uh-huh." Christopher cupped his hands around the heated cup, relaxing. "I'll have to come here more. I don't get out much, though." 

"Me either, I suppose. I have a lot of homework for my classes." Jalil was steadily drinking his coffee already, proving he was still a "gulper" in Christopher's classification. "Though I've spent some time with David and the others." 

"David?" Christopher's head shot up, his youthful face surprised. "David Levin? Really?" 

"The one and only," Jalil said with a grin. "He's only a few hours away from here, actually. I went to visit him and April over break. They're doing good." 

"Him and April are still going out?" Christopher asked in approval. He smirked. "I'm glad he dumped that Senna chick... that woman was craaaazy." 

His dark-eyed friend nodded. "Not to mention possibly dangerous. She was arrested for drug charges last summer, I think. I don't know what happened after that, but apparently she's somewhere in a treatment facility. April had no choice; her sister was going nuts." 

"S'for the best, I guess. Is April still on her way to being the next Celine Dion?" 

"Of course," Jalil said dryly. "Was there every any doubt? And David's going into the military, as we all thought. Navy, actually. He always did like boats." 

Christopher snickered, taking a small quick sip of his coffee. "Nn, good stuff. And yeah, he was always a sea buff, I remember. Knew all the knots and the sailing techniques... his dad took him out to the harbor a lot, I remember. And when he took me that one time--" 

"--you got sick all over the deck," Jalil finished with a grin. "He never took anyone sailing after that. Thanks, Chris, you ruined it for us all." 

"My pleasure," he mock accepted. "I'd do it all again for the sake of the people." 

"Of course." 

Subtly, Christopher shifted his knees so they didn't align quite so evenly with Jalil's own warm legs. Then he leaned forward with a wistful smile, holding his coffee to his mouth but not drinking. "I miss 'em... I regret never buyin' a yearbook, either. I don't have any pictures or anything of you guys." 

Jalil looked surprised-- he put down his own nearly empty mug for an instant. "Not anything? Jesus, you had four years to buy one of those, you know." 

"I know. I'm the master of procrastination, though, y'know. Gotta uphold my title." 

The mocha-skinned adult sitting across from him hesitated, frowning a little at the table surface as though in conflict. After a moment, he said cautiously, "I... I have some extra pictures, if you want..." 

Christopher looked up, trying to read his expression. "... really?" 

_Anything of us, Jalil? I remember tons of times when April caught us with the camara. Did you actually keep any of them? And do I really, really want to ask?_

"Yeah, just some things from the newspaper and yearbook staff. Things they didn't throw out, but gave out to all the seniors when they left." Jalil shrugged his narrow shoulders indifferently, a calm mask on his face again. "I don't know why I kept them. Good memories, I suppose... for the most part..." 

Christopher winced at the low, added on part. He didn't think he was supposed to hear it, because Jalil's voice had been purely miserable and bitter at that spot, but he'd managed to catch it. Years of watching television really delved up your communication and audio skills. 

Trying to recapture the mood of before, he took a deep breath and asked, "Well, cool. If you're sure you don't want to keep all of 'em..." 

"I'm sure," Jalil said with a slow, hesitant smile. "I don't look at them all anyway." 

"Cool enough." Christopher flashed what he hoped was a disarming smile. "You can just pick some out for me, then, and bring them over sometime...?" 

"I guess." Jalil's face was uncomfortable, the conflicting emotions in his eyes returning. To anyone else, he would have seemed in perfect control and placid, but to the blonde's well-trained eye, he could tell there was more there. 

A split second of silence, and then Jalil's voice-- rushed and tumbling out in uncertainty and something quite like fear-- "You could-- you could come to my apartment. If you wanted to pick some out for yourself. It wouldn't take long, I suppose, merely a small interlude to the evening..." 

Christopher swallowed back his sudden rush of longing and fear, and teased, "Still using big words like 'interlude', Jalil? I know you swallowed a dictionary at birth, but this is nuts." 

_Oh god, I'm going to his apartment. Jesus. What the hell am I thinking?_

"Oh shut up," Jalil said, a small smile hanging on his mouth for an instant. 

_I'm so going to his apartment. But just to look for pictures, that's it. And maybe check out his cat and his crib. That's all, Christopher. Stop thinking of the past..._

And he glanced at Jalil, who was finishing off his lattee with a quiet murmer of pleasure. Dark eyes caught his stare and held it curiously. Then Jalil gave him a slightly strained, yet obviously genuine smile that broke all the serious seams of his face and made it warm and alive. 

_Stop thinking of what happened with you two._

Christopher jerked his head away from his face, and glared at his coffee instead. It was only a fourth gone. 

"Maybe you should take that to go," Jalil said. 

_Because it can't ever happen again... no matter how much you want it._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It wasn't a long walk at all to Jalil's small but neat apartment. They were there within fifteen minutes, looking up at a clean white building that went up three stories and had glass windows. 

"It's not much," Jalil said with a bit of embarrassment as they entered the small elevator together. He pressed the number "2" and waited until it shuddered to a start, rising slowly. "But I know the landlady, and managed to get a good deal on this place." 

"Already looks better n' mine," Christopher said dubiously, studying the clean silver plates of the elevator box. His own just had flights of cement stairs. "Not that that's a hard thing, o' course." 

"I suppose, from what I remember of your cleaning habits." A ping and the elevator doors opened smoothly, revealing a long white hallway framed with dark oak doors. They stepped out and started down. 

Jalil stopped in front of a door with a white plastic "32B" tacked onto it, already shuffling and digging into his coat pockets. He pulled out a small keyring and inserted one in the doorknob lock. 

"This looks nice," the blonde muttered, eyeing the hallway. "Huh. Cool." 

The dark-eyed youth didn't look up from the lock he was concentrating on-- too hard, Christopher realized. He was trying to twist the key in the knob, but it wasn't budging. Jiggling it roughly, Jalil uttered a low curse and looked up. 

"Sorry. It jams sometimes. Just give me a moment..." He went back to concentrating on it. 

Christopher raised an eyebrow as he looked at the motions, and shook his head. "You're doing it wrong--" 

"What?" 

"The lock," the blonde explained. "You're going about it all wrong. Trust me, mine does this all the time, it's like an unwritten rule of apartments... here, just..." 

"Like this, then?" 

He sighed in exasperation, "No, not like that. Just-- christ, here." Christopher quickly moved forward and grasped the keys, trying to adjust Jalil's grip on them. "You've got to... uh..." 

The blonde froze, suddenly aware of their proximity. His body was pressed up against Jalil's tense back, his arms almost mock embracing him where it reached around to get at the keys, and where the other had rested on Jalil's elbow. His body was warm through the coat. His hand was trembling beneath Christopher's, the feel familiar to his touch. 

_... well, that was a stupid move._

Christopher didn't know if he was shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut quickly, inhaling a quick breath for strength, and tried to ignore the heat emitted from Jalil's body. From the temptation. Just a little more and he could wrap his arms around him from behind-- 

_The keys, you idiot! Stop standing there like that before he figures out how much you're enjoying this!_

"Uh!" he sputtered. "You've... with the keys, I mean... you've got to... like this, I mean..." He swallowed, gently taking Jalil's hand and twisting carefully to the left, the right, and then jerking it again to the left with a sharp pull. A click echoed in the hallway-- it unlocked. 

Neither one of them moved. 

He couldn't see Jalil's face. But the back pressed against his was moving with deep breaths, and his hand was still trembling. Christopher stared at the back of neck, unsure of what to do now. 

Slowly, almost fearfully, Jalil leaned back until he was pressed down the length of Christopher's chest. The tension melted away, and he let his head rest comfortably against the blonde's shoulder, closing his eyes. Christopher could see his chest moving slowly, breathing quiet. 

_Oh god. You did not come here to do this. You didn't... oh man._

_It's just like it was back then... _

Carefully, without his mind's permission, Christopher's arms wrapped around the thin body securely. They fit perfectly together. They always had. He rested his chin on Jalil's hair, his embrace trapping their arms tightly together. 

_Out of everything, holding him had always been perfection. This was your sanctuary once... this was where you felt like everything was just peachy. _

_Then again, you were the bastard who ruined it, Christopher._

With that thought, Christopher took a sharp breath and opened his eyes to look down at the young man within his arms. Jalil's eyes were closed, lashes on his cheeks, and a content expression trapped on his face. A familiar image, aged only by a few years. He still felt exactly the same. 

_I'm such an idiot. How come you don't hate me still?_

Jalil tensed like steel suddenly, eyes flying open as though he heard his thoughts. For a second, Christopher was petrified that he'd spoken out loud-- unsure of whether he'd whispered the words. He didn't find out, either, because Jalil silently clenched his teeth and moved quickly to get out of the warm hold. 

He let go of him. 

"Thank you," the dark-eyed man said coldly, eyes a wall of ice. He stepped away from Christopher, who ached slightly from the loss. "I'll have to remember that trick." 

"... sure thing. Anytime," he replied quietly. They stared at each other for a moment, the world high strung and wired around them. 

Then, Jalil turned with a rigid back to open the door, and stepped inside the apartment. After a pause, Christopher followed. 

Jalil wasted no time in hanging up his coat on a small hook and walking into the living room, tossing a slow, "I'm going to look for the pictures," over his shoulder. Christopher stood awkwardly in the opening of the small yet neat space in front of the doorway. 

_Okay... so maybe he does hate me after all. _

He looked around the apartment-- noting absently in the back of his preoccupied mind that it was exactly how he figured Jalil's home would be. Everything was in rational, earthen tone colors that were not creative, but orderly and soothing. A small but comfortable living room with cream carpet and a dark black sofa, a few books strewn on a coffee table. There was a modest tree set up in the corner of the room, decorated with a few strings of softly glowing lights and silver bulbs. He could see a clean kitchen through the open doorway to the left. Presumably, he figured the closed door Jalil had gone through led to a bedroom. 

He glanced around and then hesitantly took off his shoes and coat, setting them to the side. _Huh. It looks more like a museam than a college kid's living space. Then again, I'm not really surprised._

There was no sound from the supposed bedroom, so Christopher sank down into the black couch while he waited. 

_I was right-- this is a hell of a lot better n'my piece of shit apartment. Man, smart guys get all the luck._

He enjoyed the feel of the sofa's cushioning material for a moment, wondering idly where Jalil got the money to have such nice furniture, before the said young man appeared again. The dark-eyed student shut the bedroom door behind him with his foot, since both of his hands were occupied with awkwardly holding a small cardboard box. 

A small gray cat darted out from behind his feet as the door closed. Christopher stared at the furry creature, who looked right back with suspicious green eyes-- and then ran off into the kitchen. The blonde's lips twitched in an effort not to cackle. 

_It so figures that Jalil would pick a cat that looks as grumpy as he does._

"I found them, I think," Jalil said, looking much more relaxed and comfortable than he had after the incident outside. Whatever he'd done while he was gone had obviously worked-- there wasn't a hint of the cold, upset tone in his casual voice. 

"That's cool," Christopher said, watching him as he sat down beside him. Jalil placed the box on the coffee table in front of them with a loud thud, then leaned back and sighed. 

"Whew. You wouldn't think pictures would weigh so much..." 

Feeling relief at regaining the relaxed atmosphere, Christopher teased him. "Nope, you're just a wimp. Skinny weak arms and all that." 

Jalil raised an eyebrow. "You seem to have forgotten that time I cleaned your clock in fifth grade..." 

"You were lucky, ch'." 

"Mm-hmm." Chuckling at him, Jalil moved to lift the lid off of the box. "Just keep telling yourself that, Chris, and who knows? Maybe you'll be able to believe it." 

Christopher didn't answer, but whistled as he gazed down with incredulous blue eyes at the large amount of old photographs. They were neatly stacked in dusty rows, tucked inside of the large box. "Damn it, you weren't kidding when you said you had a lot of pictures. Did you bribe the yearbook staff or something?" 

"Offered half my soul and three dates with my little sister," Jalil said with a smile. 

"Ooo, I bet she kicked your scrawny ass." 

The dark-eyed student nodded in mock sadness. "I'll never forget that moral-- hell hath no fury like a Kira scorned." 

Christopher laughed, idly picking up a random glossy photo from the stacks and glancing at it. He blinked. Did a double take at his own face, only younger and much more horrified. 

"... Jalil?" 

"Yeah?" he answered warily, eyeing him without moving his head. Christopher looked at him pleadingly. 

"Please tell me this isn't from that one day Senna spit in my milk during lunch, and you guys didn't tell me until _after_ I'd drunk it?" 

"Heh heh." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Two and a half hours, several photos and eighty-three funny high school stories later-- warm sounds of eager laughter filled the air. 

"I still can't believe David actually agreed to go along on that prank!" 

Christoher snickered, tossing the picture to an amused Jalil, who admired it while attempting not to giggle like a maniac. It depicted an older, balding man covered in what might have been tomato juice, from head to toe, soaked in it. 

"Well," the blonde added. "He _was_ the teacher who gave him a detention for trying to correct the American History lesson." 

"Didn't the man call it 'back-talking'?" Jalil mused idly. 

"Somethin' like that." Christopher rumaged around the bottom of the near-empty box in distraction. "Hey. I think we're almost through them all..." 

Which in itself wasn't surprising-- it was getting late, but the warm glow of the Christmas lights and Jalil's lamps made the room cheerful. By now, photos lay scattered like a bright jig-saw puzzle all over the cream carpet and coffee table, surrounding the two boys comfortably sprawled on the couch, photo box tucked between them. 

They'd spent the past few hours remescenising, getting their memories honed and sharpened. Christopher felt years younger again. Not that he'd been old to begin with, he assured himself, considering it had only been a few years anyway. 

Now he felt the bottom of the storage box, nearly empty, with a feeling of disappointment. That meant he may have to leave soon, he knew. And to be perfectly honest, he was feeling highly reluctant to withdraw from the comforting presence and Jalil's home. 

Who wanted to go back to a crappy, screwed-up mess of a lonely apartment, anyway? Not when he could be happy and content in a nice place like this, with laughter and a small kitty that had taken a liking to him, and was currently curled up in his lap purring. Not when an incredible, sexy young man with clear dark eyes and familiar mocha skin was grinning at him... 

_I could get used to this... definatly learn to like it here._

It was a dangerous thought. But Christopher was rapidly falling into a dangerous mood. 

"I think we're almost done," he announced with a flourish. "Except-- aha!" Triumphantly, the blonde waved a small quite container that had been tucked far in the corner at the bottom. "I have more!" 

He was shocked, to say the least, when Jalil's expression changed-- from a satisfied and amused sort, to a pale, fearful and almost upset nature. 

"Those aren't worth looking at," he snapped quickly, a dark flush raising in his cheekbones. Christopher blinked at the attitude change as well as the unexplainable blush. 

"Uh... why not?" 

"They're personal," Jalil said, guilt flickering over his features. "Kind of, I mean. Can I have them back, please?" He held out an arm, as though offering Christopher something instead of trying to take it. 

He frowned at it. Then quickly grinned and tried to make light of the pleading expression on his friend's face. Well... yeah, I guess, but they're only pictures. What'd you do, sneak into the girl's locker room and take some?" 

Instead of smiling, Jalil's glare only got colder, frigid and angry. "I don't seem to remember having any interest in girls, do you?" 

Christopher stared. 

He stared right back, focused and intense, quiet but truthful in his words. 

"... okay, it was the boy's locker room." 

_"Christopher!"_

A dark chuckle was the only answer to Jalil's sputter, as the blonde studied him with a somewhat bitter amusement. Christopher shook his head, opening the small white box without a word-- but knowing what he'd find. 

Jalil's hands gripped the couch armrest hard enough to break his thin fingers. But he didn't move to stop him now. 

_Jalil..._ Christopher's mind whispered softly, when he slowly flipped through the small nest of pictures he held. They were worn at the edges from multiple times where someone had looked through them, but in good condition. He'd taken good care of them. The colors were still bright and vibrant. 

_He wanted to keep these, then._

_I remember that time. And that. Of course, duh. Oh wow._

He stopped looking through them at one picture, surprise crossing his face and making his brow furrow. "I... don't remember this one," he murmered. 

Jalil ran his eyes around the room, looking everywhere but Christopher. Focusing on the tree lights, he said quietly, "There are dates, names, and explanations on the back of every photo." 

"Oh." He turned it over. 

_"Christmas, Senior year -- after Christopher insisted we watch that stupid Rudolph cartoon again, fell asleep." _

Christopher's face was uncharacteristically blank as he blinked at the photo again. Thinking back, his mind dimly recalled this day-- when the snow blanketed the streets in white, and Jalil came over to his house for once. He never did it often. Usually Christopher went to his house, because his parents weren't as nice as Jalil's were when it came to their friendship and bickering. 

He'd insisted they watch the annual Rudolph special on television. 

_My parents were out. The house was toasy warm, but you felt even warmer-- halfway through the movie, you fell asleep on the couch. Too much complaining over the fact that no self-respecting elf would want to be a dentist. Your breath was always soft, I could barely feel it through my sweatshirt..._

Christopher's pale fingers ghosted over the peaceful faces caught frozen in the photograph, gently circling them. "You fell asleep curled up next to me. I didn't make it, either-- we both ended up twined together, sleeping on my couch. Mom took the picture when she came home early. Said it was cute..." 

Jalil looked as though he were in pain. 

"Yeah." 

"I didn't know you managed to get this," Christopher said. 

The dark-eyed boy didn't answer. 

Christopher looked back down at the picture thoughtfully, and absently shifted it to the back of the pile. The next few were like the others-- all shots April or someone else had managed to catch. Scenes where they were surprised at the camara, a few where she'd managed to get them to smile shyly for it. And they were always touching. A hand here, fingers skimming over a shoulder, head resting on the other one. There were even a few where Christopher had worked up the courage to have the boy in an embrace similiar to the one they'd shared outside the apartment. 

Their faces were happy. 

Christopher felt a strange, wistful longing instead his chest. An ache he hadn't had this intense for a long time now. Regret. Pain. Desire. 

_We didn't have any idea what we were doing. Maybe that's why it worked so well for so long. Maybe that's why once I figured it out, I messed it all up._

_I was such a coward. I wonder now, looking at these, if you figured it out before I did..._

_Yeah, probably._

"My parents and April had a lot of them," Jalil said. His voice was unreadable except for a slight tremor in its depths. "They didn't have any use, though, so they gave most of them to me..." 

"I can't believe you kept them all," Christopher replied softly. He looked up at the young adult, biting his lip unsurely and looking lost. "I... can I..." 

"Can you what?" 

"Can I keep some of these?" the blonde asked simply, holding a few up. Jalil's dark eyes widened for a moment, confusion and fear warring inside. Then he swallowed and nodded. 

"Of course," Jalil responded faintly. "Pick whichever ones you'd like." 

Christopher smiled slightly, lopsidedly. "Thanks." His smile faltered. 

_I don't want to think about how many times you've looked at these. What you were thinking when you did._

_Was it anger? Were you hurt?_

Swallowing, the blonde avoided Jalil's figure and shakily looked through a few-- picking out odds and ends, barely even seeing them. Something in his mind, his heart, and his fingers was telling him that he wouldn't be leaving here with these anytime soon. 

The thought scared him. Intrigued him. Made something in his chest tight, with fear and apprehension and anxious thrill... 

_I've had enough time to think about this-- so what's the hesitation for? The last years have sucked, let's face it, Chris. You were miserable without him._

_He's looking at you right now. Waiting. Maybe he won't even accept you anymore, but if you showed him the truth, maybe that would change. What have you got to lose? It's now or never, your chance to turn your life back around._

It wasn't just about catching up on old times, or looking through photos. It wasn't about having someone to be with on Christmas anymore. Maybe it never had been. Maybe from the very moment he heard Jalil's voice over the telephone, he'd known it would come down to this life-changing scene that he couldn't have imagined would take place. 

Seeing Jalil... hearing him speak... being around him again. 

Somehow, it all brought back the entire reason Christopher had thrived in high school in the first place. How much he'd wanted that feeling back after they graduated, and that night happened, and how much he regreted leaving it that way. 

Now-- Christopher bit his lip harshly, raising darkened ocean eyes to meet the wary mahogany of his old friend and... 

_You couldn't handle it before. When you figured it out. And now you're older, Chris. You can tell him now. It doesn't have to end the way you thought it would, now. This could be your last chance to grasp what was yours..._

It was insane. It was stupid. It was ridiculous. 

_Impossible._

So... so he should leave now, take the pictures, put them in a little box under his bed and never speak of this night again. Go back to the miserable apartment and lonely nights. Forget everything again. Live how he was meant to. 

Jalil was looking at him now, the lamp light soft behind him. His darker than oak eyes regarded Christopher with worry, caution, and something just as soft as that light. 

_Impossible. Go home, Christopher. This will all go away in the morning._

"I have to go," Christopher said out loud. The world seemed distorted and out of place. He barely recognized the disappointment and strange, tired sadness that flashed briefly in Jalil's face. 

"Probably a good idea. Good night, Christopher-- take as many of the pictures as you want." 

Christopher nodded and stood up, moving the box to the floor as he did so. The dark-eyed boy remained on the couch, watching him as he turned to leave. 

And stopped. 

_Go home, Christopher..._

He didn't know how it happened-- years later, he still wouldn't know, but all that mattered was that suddenly he was back, and his hands were gripping Jalil tightly, and his lips were on his, and despite the tiny gasp beneath him, it was perfect, _he_ was perfect, and everything was warm and perfect and he could do this forever, and he fit so perfect-- 

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not going to run again, I'm sorry._

"C-Chris--" Somehow, the body he'd had pressed up against him had gotten loose. Jalil stared up at him, sprawled over the couch where he'd been tackled, gaping and breathless. His hair was falling out of his ponytail. Dark strands tickling around his face. 

Christopher stared down at him in dazed wonder, wondering when he'd shoved Jalil down. Their legs were tangled together, his lips were burning. He was covering the slender body, leaning up on his elbows to see his face. 

"Christopher," Jalil tried to say again, his heart racing. Christopher could feel it through his white sweater. 

"Shut up," he said roughly, not mean. Just desperate. "Listen to me." 

_Listen to me and I'll say what I should have said ages ago._

"I--" 

"Shut up," and he stole another kiss. Beneath him, Jalil was struggling, but stunned, so it was a half-hearted attempt at the most. The blonde broke the surprising kiss again and glared down. "Listen to me, I told you already." 

Jalil's eyes met his, and he gave a silent nod. The struggling stopped. 

"I was stupid." 

A small blink at that. And then, a confused, "... which part are you admitting to?" 

Christopher gaped at him, then let out a startled laugh. He relaxed. "Um... all of it? I don't know. Which part do you want me to be stupid for?" 

A tiny shrug, and darkened brown eyes flashed up in irritation. "Maybe... oh, everything? You never stopped, I think." 

The blonde let his smile fall, and he was serious when he spoke again. "You're right. You always are, though. Christ, Jalil... you shouldn't have let me be that stupid." 

"I... didn't have much say in the matter, Chris," Jalil said quietly. He slumped down into the couch in defeat, frowning. "I should have known better, though. I suppose." 

"Do you hate me?" 

It hanged in the air. 

Only after it had hung there, loud and blant and open in the unforgiving space, a thick mist of harsh reality in a canvas of air. Only after Christopher had held his breath, did Jalil answer. 

"Maybe..." He looked upset. "No. Yes? For a while, of course. Now?" 

Christopher let out his breath in a loud sigh. "Well... I'd deserve it. What I did was stupid, Jalil. I didn't mean... I got scared, okay? I'm a goddamn coward and you know it. Sure, I can talk big and tough, but not about the important things. I woke up next to you, knew what had happened, and after what you said... I _panicked_. You know?" He screwed up his eyes tightly, squeezing them shut. "I... panicked. I'm such a dumbass. Oh, Christ." 

Jalil was silent. 

"It wasn't," Christopher began again, his voice trembling. "It wasn't that I meant to... jeez, I didn't want to hurt you. I had a hard enough time with dealing with the fact that we were an item. I dealed with that by never thinking about it, really. Just... did whatever came to mind, and left it like that." 

He opened his eyes again, focusing on Jalil's blank face. His unreadable, struggling-to-come-to-terms face. Christopher shook his head at it. 

"It... wasn't that easy after you said the words. You know? It's such a _simple_ phrase, Jalil. It shouldn't have meant so much. But it did, okay? I heard it and I froze, man, I just locked up and couldn't even think about anything. All I knew was that I wasn't ready to hear it. All I could do was run away." 

His hands clenched the cushions on either side of Jalil. Clenched until the knuckles were white. 

_Run away like a coward from the best thing I ever had._

"I woke up..." he whispered, the words coming from his heart as he stared down at Jalil. "And you were there, and it was so damned perfect. But then I remembered what you'd said last night. When we were falling asleep, finally, and you were smiling-- and wham, then it was all so weird. I couldn't just go with the flow anymore, I actually had to think about it. And it was way to much for me. 

I panicked. I got up that morning, and I put on my clothes and ran. But it wasn't you, Jalil. It wasn't that I didn't feel about you. I did, I was just stupid. I didn't even realize what I'd done until I was already on the train for this place. And after doing that to you, I was too ashamed to do anything about what I'd done." 

Christopher took a deep, shaky breath. "I didn't figure it out until ages later, when I could admit to myself. But I was wrong. And stupid. And I'd just lost myself the best thing that ever happened to me-- the best that ever would." 

He bowed his head, sighing again and closing his eyes. "I... I didn't figure it out until it was too late, Jalil. There was never anyone else, though, y'know? I tried with a few girls, tried to date, but... it never felt right, not after you. Nothing was right without you. I can't see how you can ever forgive me... but..." 

_I need you. It's always been you._

"Jalil, I never, ever forgave myself for letting you go." 

His words trailed off into breathless pain, blending into the very fabric of the air sitting between them. Though his eyes were closed, he could feel Jalil's breathing and heart beat, subdued and low. The boy beneath him said nothing. 

Nothing for what seemed like forever. 

"... I waited for hours, you know. But you didn't come back." 

It was barely more than a whisper, almost inaudible, but Christopher's ears had been waiting for an answer. So he heard the broken, vulnerable statement. 

Jalil's voice cleared itself and started again, louder but just as upset. "I... really thought you had just gone somewhere. An errand. Grochery shopping you'd forgotten to do for your mother. That you had just forgotten to leave a note, or would call me later." 

"Jalil," Christopher said. The dark-eyed boy beneath him quaked, and Christopher opened his eyes to look at him sadly. He was fighting back tears. 

"Y-you didn't come back, though. You stupid, brainless moron..." Jalil broke off, losing the battle as silver tears silently slipped down his desperate, bitter face. He tried to hide it from the blonde's view, but Christopher didn't let him move. 

"I'm sorry, Jalil." 

"S-sorry?! _Fuck_ that, you didn't even have the decency to leave a note or tell me to my face!" the student shouted, now struggling to rise from the hold Christopher had on him. Fury was blazing in the depths of his eyes. "Jesus, you-- you think a few pretty words and... and a 'sorry'?! You think that... that makes up for... _goddamn_ you!" 

"Jalil--" Christopher fumbling attempted to restrain the young man now trying to beat him. Jalil's thin fists were smacking his shoulders, as he fought to sit up and shove the blonde off of him. 

_Shit. This is not what I thought his reaction would be..._

"No! NO! You think... _goddamn_ you! I didn't invite you here so that you... you... I just..." He looked like he was about to scream, and cry, and laugh at the same time. Tear-filled brown eyes stared up at him desperatly. "I didn't... god, I _hate_ you! I hate you, do you hear me?! Get the hell off! _Now_!" 

"Jalil, calm down--" 

"No, I won't! You think it was easy?! Waking up after your first time and finding the bastard you l-- you lo-- no, no, that's giving you too much credit!" Growling, Jalil managed to shove Christopher half off of him, sitting up and getting his legs entangled further with the blonde. "I hate you! I woke up, and you were gone, and your mother said you'd left for college, and you didn't call and wouldn't answer my letters--" 

Christopher, who had managed to avoid the flying fists throwing themselves at him, cringed. "I told you I was stupid-- christ, will you just calm down?!" 

"I'm not some goddamn, weepy _girl_ you can just coerce into forgiveness with a few flowery _speeches_, you idiot!" 

With that, Jalil threw a wild swing at Christopher's head-- and found his wrist in a tight, firm grip. Trying to pull out of it, he found his other wrist also captured, and let out a loud cry of outrage. 

"Jalil-- calm _down_," the harried blonde said dangerously, frustrated beyond belief. Being a punching bag didn't exactly fit into his evening plans. He pinned the hysterical boy's arms to his sides, wrapping him in a tough embrace. "Jalil, listen to me!" 

The mocha-skinned form in his arms attempted to break out of the hold for a while, snapping incoherent things. He didn't look like he was going to stop fighting him anytime soon. 

"Jalil--" 

So Christopher did the only thing he could think of-- short of knocking out the boy he cared for. 

He kissed him. 

For a moment, Jalil freezed up solid, rigid and unmoving under the warmth and pressure of Christopher's mouth. But the blonde, determined to melt that uncaring ice, kept it up. 

And ever, ever, ever so slowly... and gradually... he did stop struggling and responded. It was familiarity, the fact that he couldn't help but respond anymore. Or maybe it was just that he was tired of fighting. But he did. 

Uncertainly, Jalil's hands clenched Christopher's t-shirt, his body practically melting into the blonde's form. Christopher's embrace relaxed, loosly falling so he could wrap his arms more comfortably around the student. 

He poured everything he could into that kiss. But it wasn't enough for him, now. Once it had been-- but that had been his downfall, not saying enough. Christopher broke it, breathless, but now headstrongly stubborn to get out the words he couldn't years ago. 

Jalil looked at up him, his face conflicting between upset, fear, anger, out-right hatred, and a slow, aching desire. Just one look at those features made Christopher's mind make its decision. 

He firmly took a hold of Jalil's shoulder, bringing one hand up to gently run its knuckles across his face. "Jalil... 

"I love you." 

Jalil just looked at him helplessly, eyes wide and shocked. 

Christopher swallowed, and said it again. "Jalil, I love you." And with their release, something very heavy inside of him disappeared. So he said it again with more confidence. Some part of him was distantly amazed and pleased. 

_It really is a simple phrase. Why couldn't I say it before?_

"I love you, Jalil." 

_I was so stupid._

He was suddenly aware that Jalil's head was buried against his right shoulder, and his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. Concerned and starting to panic-- oh god, what if he didn't feel the same anymore?-- Christopher looked down desperatly at him. 

"Jalil? Oh Christ, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" 

"Y-you... _idiot_..." the boy choked out. "You made m-me... cry again... stupid moron..." 

"I'm sorry," Christopher began in dismay. "Damn it, I didn't think..." 

"It took you that long to figure it out?!" Jalil demanded, his head raising and looking up at Christopher incredulously. Tear streaks were evident on his face, but the flow had already stopped-- considering the person he was thinking of, Christopher was surprised he'd cried in the first place. "You really are stupid, Chris!" 

Blinking down at him, Christopher ventured, "Sooooo... you don't hate me anymore?" 

"I didn't hate you to begin with," the dark-eyed student muttered bitterly. "I tried, though, trust me. Almost tried voodoo, but I wasn't _that_ upset." 

"Um, thanks. I think." 

Jalil freed his hands to reach up and rub his eyes with a small groan. "I... don't know what to think now. Isn't that strange? I don't want to know if I can forgive you now, Christopher. I don't... I don't know what's going to happen now," he concluded miserably. He took his hands away and looked up grumpily. 

"I mean, here I was-- I have good classes, a nice job and apartment. A cat, look, I have a cat! I was doing fine without you. But then... I saw your name in that phonebook, and I just had to talk to you again. I didn't even think about it." 

Christopher smiled ruefully, and carefully began tracing circles on the back of the boy still in his arms. "Eh... I think we both went nuts and stopped thinking. But I'm thinking again, and I'm still here, so that's kinda stupid." 

"Obviously," mumbled Jalil, leaning so his head laid against Christopher's shoulder again. "I... I don't know if I can forgive you." 

"So give me time to make it up to you," the blonde said. 

"What?" 

"Aren't you supposed to be a genius?" Christopher mused, kissing his old lover's forehead impishly. "It's easy to figure out. Give me time to make it up to you. I'll even cook breakfast in the mornings. My egg-making skills kick ass." 

"Christopher..." 

"Yeah?" 

Jalil's soft laughter felt warm against his shirt. "I love you, too." 

_This time I can respond right._ Christopher grinned slightly to himself, and then nodded. 

"I love you." 

"... say it again," Jalil asked hesitantly. "Please?" 

Christopher's grin widened, and he pulled back to look at his old lover. He pressed small kisses on his nose, on his face, all over until reaching his mouth. 

"I love you... love you... mm, there, too..." 

"Christoph-- mmph..." 

Christopher wrapped his arms tightly around Jalil, one hand stealthily sneaking up his white sweater to feel the heated mocha skin beneath it. Shuddering, his old lover gave in instantly to the sensation, and allowed himself to be shoved down into the couch again. 

The blonde pressed hard against the clothed body below his own, letting out a small moan at the heat. Tearing his mouth away from Jalil's, he murmered in the boy's ear again and his hands reacquainted themselves with his body. 

"I love you..." 

"Oh god," Jalil said, arching up with a shaky gasp. "Say it again..." 

Christopher chuckled against his ear, feeling Jalil squirm beneath him as his fingers found an old sensitive spot on his ribcage. "I love you..." 

Swiftly, thin but graceful fingers traced Christopher's chest, moving up to his neck and sliding beneath his shirt carefully. One of Jalil's hands reached up to tangle itself in the golden tresses of hair, attempting not to pull too hard on it, but tightening its grip. 

"Love you," the dark-eyed student murmered wonderously, biting his lip hard, so he wouldn't whimper at the administrations being bestowed upon him. Christopher felt so familiar and right-- their legs were entertwined still, their hips pressed tightly together, and his hands everywhere, his voice murmering in his ear-- 

"I love you, too... shhhh..." 

Jalil managed a soft gasp, before laughing a little. "You... you're telling _me_ to be quiet?" he chided reproachfully. 

"_You're_ the loud one," Christopher said, teasing him as he skimmed his fingers over Jalil's hips. "As I remember, at least." 

"You're wearing too many clothes," was all Jalil would say in return. His fingers deftly moved from his hair, switching to where he could unbutton Christopher's shirt. 

"You are, too," the blonde replied, stifling a groan at how good the hands felt on his skin. "But... christ, don't do that-- where's your bed in here?" 

Jalil paused, desire clouding his eyes. "Um... over there..." he gestured aimlessly, managing to point out the door that Christopher had suspected to be the bedroom earlier. "That's the bedroom. But... I don't think I can get up..." he mumbled. 

Christopher shrugged off the rest of his shirt, then managed to stand up shakily. Jalil threw him a worried, upset look at the loss of body heat-- also scared he meant to leave. The blonde silenced the fears with a tiny grin. 

"I love you, Jalil. So I'm gonna do this part right, okay?" he said simply. Jalil's answering wry grin was brighter than any of the Christmas lights in the room. 

Of course, it quickly turned into exasperated, horrified outrage when Christopher put his arms beneath his knees and back-- and lifted him up. 

_"Ch--christopher!"_

Snickering slightly as he picked Jalil's thin form up with little effort, Christopher balanced the startled youth in his arms. "What's that?" 

"Put me down, I'm not a damn female!" Jalil slapped at Christopher, his feet already kicking. Their faces were still flushed from their explorations, and both sets of clothes disleveled. 

"Oh shut up, you _said_ you couldn't get up. This way's a hell lot faster," Christopher retorted, managing to keep a hold tight on him, and heading for the bedroom. "Besides, I won't tell anyone if you don't." 

Still sputtering, Jalil settled down into his arms with a loud grumble. "Whatever." 

Christopher kicked open the doorway-- noticing Agnes dart into the kitchen from the corner of his eye-- and carefully maneuvered them inside. He barely took note of the neat, almost polished wooden interior and flawless carpet. Didn't look at the few pictures set up in ordered fashion, or the way the large bed was perfectly made. Didn't care at all, too wrapped up in the sulking bundle he was holding. 

_Damn, this is perfect. And this time,_ he resolved firmly. _I'm not going to wake up in the morning and leave._

But that didn't matter so much either. Because then he was laying Jalil down on the bed, and two arms were stretched up towards him, and a gentle smile was directed his way. A very rare, but very familiar smile that made those mahogany eyes glow. 

"I love you," Christopher whispered as he descended into the warmth those arms and smile offered. 

And then, all he knew was perfection. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_"Chestn... on an op... ire..."_

A faint, cheerful voice was singing somewhere in his apartment. That was the first thing Jalil knew what he woke up. 

Of course, the matter of who the hell was in his apartment without his permission... that was a real question. And why they were singing what sounded like Nat King Cole carols when the air was still cold. That was strange, to say the least. 

Jalil frowned slightly. There was something he was forgetting, and he wasn't the type of person who enjoyed that feeling. 

_"ack Frost... ping at... ose..."_

"Nnngh..." he groaned slightly, burying his face in the pillows. The cool air hit his arm, forcing him to open a sleepy eye and gaze at the clock on his bedside table. A blinking red array of digital numbers, 6:46, stared back at him unwaverily. 

6:46, and there was someone singing in what sounded like the kitchen. What? 

And singing badly. 

The dark-eyed boy shifted and stared blankly up at his prisine cieling, dazed and cobwebbed from sleep still. His mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. And then, looking up and noting the empty spot beside him, where an indention indicated a body not hours before, he remembered. 

Christopher. Coffee. Photos. Kisses. 

_"I love you."_

And then, with a mortified sort of pleasure, exactly what had happened the rest of the night. 

_"Yuletide carols... ung by a ch... r..."_

Dazedly contemplating the offkey yet exuberant singing from his kitchen, Jalil sat up in bed. Fumbling over the side, he found his robe on a crumpled up bundle on the floor-- sometime last night, it had been knocked off the bedknob where he usually hung it. Feeling a blush come to his face, he shook his head once. Twice. 

"He's... still here," he said quietly. 

The singing from the kitchen grew a bit more coherent now that he was listening. _"... olks dressed up... ike Ekimos..."_

Definatly Nat King Cole. Jalil's lips twitched in an attempt not to laugh mindlessly. Instead, he stood up and wrapped the soft blue robe tightly around him, tying the knot absently. The floor was cold, as it usually was in the mornings, and he cringed as his warm feet hit it. 

_"... ows a turkey... and some mistletoe..."_

He padded into the kitchen, followed by a sleepy Agnes who had curled up on the couch all night. The kitchen was warm and brighter than it had been since he bought the place-- and filled with the sound of sizzling, the smells of bacon and eggs and a number of things he never made in the morning. 

Christopher, in hastily-shoved on jeans, turned to gape at him when he walked in. 

For a second, they stared at each other. Jalil fidgeted in his robe, feeling like his face was burning up, and not liking the sensation a bit. Christopher just looked disappointed. 

"You know..." the blonde said. "I was going to get you breakfast in bed, but you just kinda ruined all my carefully made plans. Damn you, Jalil." 

The awkward moment broken, Jalil laughed loudly. From behind him, Agnes sprinted in and curled around Christopher's ankles with a welcoming purr. 

"Christopher, it's hard to sleep when someone's howling Christmas carols in your easily-echoing kitchen," Jalil said dryly, plopping down in a chair and sniffing the air. "But the gesture is highly appreciated. That looks _really_ good." 

The blonde winked with a rakish grin. "Howling? My singing is as superb as my cooking, _mon ami_. And as it's the best carol ever, you hafta listen to it." 

"In that case, I don't want to eat what you're cooking. Food poisoning on Christmas would really suck." 

"Hmph." Christopher made what suspiciously looked like a pout. "You're no fun. C'mon, it's a classic, just like me and Nick at Night. You love me, right? So you have to love the song." He pointed an accusing finger at him. "It's a requirement." 

Jalil laughed. "I'll think about it." 

_"Everybody knows, a turkey and some mistletoe..."_ Christopher crooned. _"Help to make the season bright..."_

"Oh god," the dark-eyed student groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You may be good at some things, but April, you are not." 

"Well, that's good," Christopher broke off to respond, offended. "I don't think April would have done half of the things we did last night." 

"Christopher!" Despite the annoyance in Jalil's voice, his laughter reached his eyes. Christopher grinned at him, setting down his spatula to walk over to his lover. 

"I never got to kiss you good morning... or wish you a Merry Christmas," he murmered huskily. Jalil felt himself pulled up into a deep, mind-imploding kiss and held tightly in the blonde's arms. He responded blissfully. 

After a long moment-- and Agnes' whining meows-- they pulled away, looking each other in the eyes breathlessly. 

Christopher smiled and leaned forward until his forehead rested on Jalil's own. "I love you," he said simply. Jalil shivered. 

"I love you, too," he replied faintly, more emotion than he'd ever been able to show glowing in his eyes. "I... thank you." 

"For what?" the blonde asked, brushing his face with a hand. He smiled when Jalil shook his head wordlessly, and then sang softly, _"... tiny tots with their eyes all aglow... will find it hard to sleep tonight..."_

Jalil broke off into choked laughter. "I can't believe... you're singing that crap." 

"I like it!" 

After spending a few more minutes lounging lazily in each others arms, Christopher reluctantly distangled himself. "Eh... gotta go cook you breakfast. Sit down and have some coffee or something." 

"Alright." Jalil went over to the coffee maker, taking his cup and filling it only three quarters full. He snatched a few liquid creamers from a basket on the counter-- to fill the rest, Christopher knew with a grin. He watched the mocha-skinned boy sit at the table in content, then went back to his eggs and singing. 

_"...that reindeer really know how to fly..."_

It was a great picture. It was a better moment. As Christopher flipped over the sausage on its back, eyeing the eggs to make sure they didn't burn, he couldn't have been happier. Then Jalil spoke up. 

"You know, I still didn't wake up to find you with me." 

For a second, Christopher looked back at him in disbelief and exasperation-- and caught sight of the teasing grin on Jalil's face. He stared at it, gaping, and realizing he was being mocked. 

"... christ, I didn't know it meant that much to you." 

"Well, it did!" Jalil said with a huff, not entirely joking now. He glared at Christopher over the rim of his coffee cup, the blend almost as dark as his eyes, until you couldn't tell where the liquid ended and his irises started. "Don't think I'm going to let you off that easy, just because you're making breakfast." 

"Well," Christopher said with a loud smirk. "I guess I'll have to try it again next morning, huh?" 

Jalil almost spit out his coffee. After coughing a little, he started to laugh. 

"Yeah... maybe. Who knows, man?" Recovering slightly, he grinned at Christopher from the table. " You might never get it right, though." 

"Guess I'll keep trying a lot, then. If it takes me weeks, even years." 

"I'd like that," Jalil murmered. They smiled at each other. After a moment, Christopher tossed a playful wink and started to hum again with his back turned, flipping his food all the while. 

_"And so, I'm offering this simple phrase... to you, to the one and only you..."_

Jalil said from behind him, "You're singing the wrong words." 

_"Although it's been said,"_ Christopher said, grinning even as his voice hit a wrong pitch, _"...many times, many ways..."_

Putting his coffee cup down, Jalil stood with an amused expression, lifting an eyebrow. But the blonde didn't see it, didn't know anything except hear the light footsteps on linolium tile. And then Jalil's arms linked around him from behind, and his head rested warmly on Christopher's back with a sigh of content. 

"Comfy?" Christopher muttered with a fleeting grin. One of his hands, the one not occupied with the eggs at the moment, came down to rest on Jalil's slender fingers. They grasped his hand warmly. 

"Mm-hmm," came the drowsy reply. "You make a great pillow." 

"Thanks." He hummed a bit, picking back up while swaying slightly. _"Oh, Merry Christmas..."_

White snowflakes fell outside the window in fat, glittering shades, covering the world in their glory. Inside the warm kitchen, Christopher paused to turn and give Jalil a brief, brushing kiss. 

_"Merry Christmas, baby... I love you."_

Jalil's embrace tightened silently. And then he said, 

"You messed up the song, you idiot. Those aren't the words." 

The neighbors all the way down Hallway B heard the laughter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The End: 

... *finally*. x_x This took forever to write! And I hate it! Yet... I'm oddly fond of it... I don't know why... arrgghhh! Jalil acted so emotional! But yet, if you read the books, he *gets* emotional easier than you realize. So I am justified! Ahahahaaa! 

... maybe not. This was OOC, AU, and totally weird. Oh well. ^^;;; 

Well, I hope you enjoyed this fluff. ::huuugs:: Thank you all for everything throughout the years! I've appreciated all of your patience and kindness! ^__^ Merry Christmas, everyone, and happy holidays! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
